


katabatics

by psidn



Series: did the sky open up? [3]
Category: Haikyuu!!
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Magic, Alternate Universe - Military, Challenge: Sports Anime Shipping Olympics | SASO 2016, Death, Ghosts, M/M, Necromancy
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-07-29
Updated: 2016-07-29
Packaged: 2018-07-27 13:06:36
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,092
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7619269
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/psidn/pseuds/psidn
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Tendou's still getting used to a corporeal body.</p>
            </blockquote>





	katabatics

**Author's Note:**

> for bonus round 5 of SASO, cross-posted from [here](http://sportsanime.dreamwidth.org/16113.html?thread=7410929#cmt7410929)
> 
> lots of thanks to [sk](http://archiveofourown.org/users/toomanyhometowns/) for help with tenses

Tendou’s still getting used to a corporeal body.

“Oops,” he says, as he walks into the tent wall again. “I keep forgetting how far my steps take me.”

Ushijima stares at him, still as deathly silent as when he had completed the ritual. His gaze is steady, but it also feels like he’s looking at something else, at something that’s not there.

‘Look at _me_ ,’ Tendou wants to say. ‘I’m right here.’ But that’s obvious enough, and would sound childish. How can Tendou explain, exactly, that he still feels like he’s being looked through instead of looked at?

If Tendou only had Ushijima’s distant gaze to go off of, he wouldn’t be sure if he were really alive again. But he’d felt hungry before breakfast that morning, the first time in a long while, and the cold is sharper now, much sharper than the coldness of death. It’s a wonder he hadn’t figured out he was dead sooner, before he became alive again.

“Denial’s an amazing thing, huh, Wakatoshi?” Tendou says, not expecting an answer.

Ushijima closes his eyes and nods. And then he finally speaks.

“Was it a mistake?” he asks.

\--

It had been cold.

(Of course it had been cold, they were stationed in Antarctica. But still-- it had been cold.)

And windy. The wind had howled like it was in a rage, like it knew Ushijima needed to be stopped. Windless Bight was supposed to be windless, and it had been too obvious that it was an ill omen. Tendou had wanted to throw a fit. It wasn't fair that the wind didn't agree, it wasn’t fair that he’d died young, it wasn’t fair he’d never gotten to kiss Ushijima, so what did the wind know? 

What if it put Ushijima off from his decision?

But Ushijima had steadily packed his bag, ignoring all the signs they’d been trained to pay attention to. He’d carefully snapped off sprigs of lavender and milk thistle from his little plot of land, had rolled them up in a clean linen cloth, had tucked them into the neat pockets of his case next to his fire starter and whistle. He’d filled a thermos with sage tea, and another with ice salt water.

There had been little glass vials of oils too, rose and clove. He’d spent months making them from his small tent garden as part of his military research. Tendou remembered how they'd smelled as they were distilled, filling up their tent. He'd always watched, curious, as Ushijima had fiddled with his glassware equipment. Tendou hadn’t been able to smell anything in a long time.

Ushijima had suited up and buckled his pack on. Then he had headed out for his Bombardier, oblivious to Tendou’s ghost hitching a ride.

Along Fog Bay and up to Terror Point he’d ridden, never slowing down, never stopping for a break. The trip had had a strange timeless feel, thanks to the long daylight hours. By the time Ushijima had stopped, Tendou couldn’t tell what hour of day it was supposed to be.

“I couldn’t have gone and died on Mount Bird, huh?” Tendou had said, even though he'd known Ushijima couldn't have heard. “More birds, less terror, you know. Pleasant.” He had watched as Ushijima had dismounted and headed towards a small gathering of rocks. “Though it would have been the other side of the island, I guess.”

Tendou had watched on as Ushijima had opened his pack and made his preparations: setting up a fire, eating some rations, pulling out his pickaxe. And he had watched on as Ushijima had kicked the rocks aside, breaking their protective spell, had watched on as Ushijima had attacked the ice with the pickaxe.

More time had passed, though Tendou could only tell from the sweat beading on Ushijima's forehead, from the way Ushijima’s fingers had gone pink, then blue, with the cold.

“Don’t die on me too, Wakatoshi,” Tendou had whispered, horror mounting in him. And the feeling, dulled through death, had reached a peak as Ushijima let out a soft sigh and started laughing. “What, what is it?” Tendou had asked, clawing at Ushijima’s parka in futility.

Ushijima had stilled and grown serious again. Tendou had peered around his shoulder and seen, there in the permafrost, a tuft of red hair.

“Oh,” Tendou had said. “Almost there, Wakatoshi.”

Tendou had continued to watch, all up to Ushijima setting up the ritual. But he'd finally looked away when Ushijima had pulled out a blade to hold to his palm.

“That’s too real, Wakatoshi,” Tendou had muttered, “too real. I’m just, I’m going to close my eyes for a bit, but I’ll still be here, okay?”

And when Tendou had next opened his eyes, it had been to the taste of cloves and roses at the back of his throat, to the sound of a whistle in his ears, to the feel of his face crusted with salt water, and to the terrified look in Ushijima’s eyes. But Tendou hadn’t lied; he was still there. Just differently.

\--

“So was it a mistake?” Ushijima asks again.

It’s the kind of question about the kind of event that should be offensive. But Tendou knows what Ushijima means. _Will it be worth it, if we just end up dead anyway? If we drag the rest of the world with us?_

The answer is ‘no,’ which is a downer.

“Way to make a guy feel appreciated!” Tendou says, forcing a strained smile and aiming a friendly, hearty slap at Ushijima’s back. Tendou’s still having trouble adjusting to his strength though, so instead he gives an awkwardly romantic caress.

“I appreciate you,” Ushijima says, earnestly enough to make Tendou feel even weirder about the hand he’s got on Ushijima’s back. He pulls away like he’s been burned.

“I, um, me too,” Tendou says. Then, fervently, he repeats, “Me too!”

Ushijima smiles, that crooked thing where one corner of his mouth teases out a dimple.

Tendou takes a deep breath to fight off the sudden dizziness, to give himself confidence. “It won’t be a mistake,” he says.

Ushijima looks down at his hands, then looks up, nods. “Will you,” he starts, and pauses. He takes a deep breath, mirroring Tendou’s actions. “Will you go on a date with me?”

Tendou looks at the crease between Ushijima’s eyebrows, at how strangely delicate it makes Ushijima look. “What, dinner and a movie,” Tendou jokes, weakly, regretting it immediately. He clears his throat. “Yes,” he says. “I-- I’ve heard Mount Bird is beautiful this time of year.”


End file.
